


Autumn Leaves - Fictober

by WilwyWaylan



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, I love breaking Feuilly, Multi, a bunch of cuteness and friends being dorks together, also friendship - Freeform, and pumpkins, bossuet is the best of friends, i do my best, more tags to come as I advance, really - Freeform, shameless fluff, some shippy stuff too, the second one is so silly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-23 12:02:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 19,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilwyWaylan/pseuds/WilwyWaylan
Summary: A handful of little texts, hopefully centered around autumn but maybe not. Fluff, friendship, cuteness all around !





	1. Pumpkin

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to get back into writing, prepare to have fluff and silliness dumped on you during all october !

\- Pumpkins :

There was an unspoken rule among les Amis that Combeferre's reading time was not to be disturbed, even under dire circumstances. Unless of course someone was in direct danger which was curiously often for a group of usually healthy young adults. But baring those circumstances, no one was to knock on his door, call him, instant message him, yell about revolution or how a certain person was always wrong, or blast awful sugary pop in one's room. Noise was to be kept to a normal level, and culinary experiences wait until he was done. Courfeyrac and Enjolras were quite happy to follow the rules, knowing that they would get attention again soon. Even Bahorel took care to not get badly hurt during those times (he had tried going to Joly, but after his friend fainted seeing the state of his nose, he promised to abstain).

So far Combeferre's evening had been promising. He had found a sci-fi novel he had been looking for so long, his favourite tea was stimming at his side, and a fluffy plaid was drapped over his legs, filling him with a comfortable warmth. There was no noise barring from the soft hum of his heater. Everything was perfect. He was reaching the exact point where the plot was taking momentum, taking a sip of his tea, when there was a knock at the door. He put down his cup. A second knock. Then, after a few seconds, furious banging. Combeferre put down his cup, put away his plaid, shivering at the sudden cold feeling on his legs, then got up. He glanced in Courfeyrac's room, then Enjolras', but his roommates were nowhere to be seen. And the banging hadn't stop.

He flung open the door, glaring at the person who dared stop him from reading... and was met with something very orange and a glare to rival his own. Eponine was standing in front of him, carrying in her arms a very large pumpkin, and looking ready to murder someone. Either him, or the vegetable. He opened his mouth, but she beat him to the punch :

\- I know you're busy reading, but I need your help.

Before he could confirm, she charged past him, crossed the hallway, and plopped her charge on the kitchen table. When Combeferre joined her, pushing his glasses up his nose, she had already discarded her coat and scarf, and put her high-heeled boots on the table.

\- So ? Combeferre asked while pushing her feet back down. What do you need me for ?

She threw the pumpkin a glare made even scarier by her dark eyeshadow.

\- Someone at work decided to give us a tip. This.

\- Someone tipped you with.... a pumpkin ?

Combeferre knew from practice that laughing right now would be disastrous. He silently thanked whatever deity that Courfeyrac wasn't here, or he would have made a pun about tipping her over the edge and probably would have ended with an interesting pumpkin-hat. So he just nodded as if it all made perfect sense.

\- So I don't know what to do with that fucking thing.

\- And you think I know ?

She glanced at him, then went back to try to murder the innocent vegetable with her glare.

\- I tried to ask Jehan, but he's in one of his moods again. Feuilly is busy - like there's a time he's not -, and Montparnasse just laughed in my face.

\- And then you decided to ask me.

\- Well, who do you want me to ask ? Courf ? Enjolras ? (she sneered) That fucking pumpkin is a fucking pain, but I don't want to ruin it. You're the one who has his shit together. You can help me make soup or something.

With a sigh, Combeferre pulled his phone out of his pocket, and looked up the first recipe he could find. Okay, that didn't sound too complicated, and even he, with his basic skills in cooking, could probably make it. He almost asked Eponine if she couldn't find a recipe on her own and follow it, especially something as basic as a soup. But he didn't. Maybe she could. And maybe she just didn't want to do it alone. Something he could very well understand.

He rolled up his sleeves and started to gather everything. He ordered Eponine to take some vegetables out. She obeyed with something of an amused smile. She went through the fridge for a moment, causing several worrying sounds, and came out with potatoes, carrots, and two bottles of beer. She opened both, and handed one to Combeferre, who took a sip. He wasn't used to drinking beer at this hour, but after all, he wasn't used to make soup either, so just one more unusual thing wasn't really much.

They started cutting up the vegetables. Eponine was very efficient at it, but Combeferre would have preferred her to be a little less... enthusiastic. Her forceful chopping did give him the impression that potatoes and carrots had personnally offended her. Well, that was the pumpkin's case. But still. He was going to have fun giving their countertop its original coloration.

Finally, everything was cut up and put to simmer. Combeferre put a timer on his phone, then went to his room to retrieve his book and his now-cold cup of tea. When he came back, Eponine had settled comfortably and was scrolling on her phone. He made them two new cups of tea, set them on the counter far from the stains, and sat opposing her with his book.

They sat in comfortable silence for forty-five minutes, sipping their tea and reading, surrounded by the sweet smell of pumpkin soup. When the timer bipped, Combeferre got up with a pinch of regret at having to abandon his reading in the middle of a good part, dug around in the cupboard until he managed to put his hand on the blender hidden behind a pile of saucepans he didn't even remember they had.

Eponine hovered over his shoulder while he blended it, until it was a nice, creamy texture. Once satisfied, he carefully tasted it. Good. Very good, even. Eponine did the same, dipping her finger directly in the pan.

\- It's good, she said. You're an okay cook.

Combeferre thanked her with a smile. He tried to find a fitting container, but it seemed that even as three people, they didn't own even one that would contain a soup made with a whole pumpkin. He divided it between the three biggest ones he could find, and handed them to Eponine.

\- Here you go.

She considered them for a second, then took the one on top and shoved it back into his hands.

\- Here, take that. For the help.

She walked to the door, her boxes in hand. Combeferre considered the soup in his hands, then the now pumpkin-covered countertop. He barely had time to think that maybe, he should wait until morning before taking care of it, before she marched right back in, grabbed a sponge and started scrubbing.

\- What ? she said when he didn't move. You thought I would let you clean that mess alone ?

\- No, of course not.

\- Then get to work.

With a smile that verged on dorky, Combeferre grabbed the second sponge and started cleaning with her.


	2. Lollipops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH A PROMPT LIKE THIS AND THREE CHARACTERS (Grantaire, Cosette and Bahorel were the choices)
> 
> It's pretty self-explanatory, but in case...  
> LeaderInRed : Enjolras  
> FanMaker : Feuilly (duh)  
> DaughterofaWolf : Eponine (doubleduh)  
> ImTheDoctor : Joly  
> FortunaEyes : Musichetta  
> Babelfish : Marius  
> GrandR : .... DUH  
> TheLarkintheMorning : Cosette  
> TheScarletPUNCHpernickel : Bahorel
> 
> ..... sorry for the silliness, I'll do better

**Starting session**

DaughterofaWolf : guys

DaughterofaWolf : do you see what I see ?

FanMaker : we're not blind

DaughterofaWolf : fucking funny, squirrel

DaughterofaWolf : but do you see ?

LeaderInRed : yes

FanMaker : do not call me squirrel

FanMaker : but yes, what the fuck

DaughterofaWolf : you're as red as Enj hoodie

ImTheDoctor : that's not good for you

ImTheDoctor : or for me

ImTheDoctor : or for anyone

ImTheDoctor : that's dangerous

FortunaEyes : don't worry sweetie

FortunaEyes : no one ever died of blushing

DaughterofaWolf : just ask Marius

Babelfish : hey !

Babelfish : that's not nice

DaughterofaWolf : I could put you in front of Enj and youd disappear

FanMaker : you can talk

ImTheDoctor : guys please stop bickering

FortunaEyes : we have a bigger problem

Babelfish : what do we do

LeaderInRed : what do you expect us to do ?

LeaderInRed : I mean, what CAN we do ?

LeaderInRed : I don't think there's something we can do

LeaderInRed : there's nothing we can do

FanMaker : deep breathes, Enjolras

ImTheDoctor : calm down Enjy

ImTheDoctor : please ?

LeaderInRed : I'm fine

Babelfish : good

DaughterofaWolf : okay now that this is done

DaughterofaWolf : I have a few questions

FanMaker : same

FanMaker : and they are probably the same

DaughterofaWolf : first, where did they find lollipops

FortunaEyes : very phallic lollipops

ImTheDoctor : second, why are they eating them in front of us ?

LeaderInRed : third, do they have to eat them so...

Babelfish : seductively ?

FanMaker : maybe they want to kill us

DaughterofaWolf : slowly

ImTheDoctor : does that work ?

GrandR : you're aware this is our group chat right ?

TheLarkintheMorning : and that we can read what you say ?

TheScarletPunchpernickel : LOL

FanMaker : fuck


	3. Coffee Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Bossuet being a good friend :D

Bossuet burst into the Musain more than he entered, his broken lace barely holding his shoe on his foot, and scanned the room, looking for a very colorful scarf or beautiful black hair. None to be seen. Good. So leaving two hours early for his date was a good idea after all. Not that they still needed to court each other, Joly, Musichetta and he had been going steady for more than a year now, but they liked to go out together, flirt outrageously and delect themselves with the outraged looks they got.

But even dates-when-you-were-already-going-steady required one to be on time. Which was the reason why he left so early. And well advised he was. He hadn't made it to the end of the street, that he had to turn back to pick up the keys he had forgotten. THen a second time to take a scarf, because it was fall, and Joly would berate him to risk a cold. The first metro had been cancelled, so he patiently waited the ten minutes required. The second one was packed, and someone's umbrella kept poking him in the leg, hard enough to leave a bruise. Then his next metro was delayed by twenty minutes, because of some kind of electricity problem. He got lost, of course, because who designed those lines and hallways and other hallways and halls and more hallways ? Probably some sadist, delecting in poor people getting lost. So he had to walk no less than twenty-two blocks to finally reach the Musain. During which he got accosted by two proselytisers, a salesman, and an old lady who had lost his cat. Then, when he was finally free, he was pursued by a playful and very small dog who saw his shoes (and feet) as a toy, and lead to the aforementionned broken lace.

But at least, he had reached his goal, and would soon get codled by his partners. He grabbed a cup of coffee, all the while thinking how he would retell the story (the dog needed to be much bigger, to make them understand his predicament), and went to sit. Then stepped back. Was this... yes, the blond curls and the red jacket could only belong to their leader. But what was said leader doing at the back of the coffee shop ? Usually, he made a beeline to the back room, to spread his notes on every surface available and get ready for their meetings.

But right now he seemed to be... waiting ? He wasn't wearing his usual hoodie, but a nice, white shirt, and his hair... Well, an attempt had been made. He probably had combed them before leaving, but sliding his hands through it again and again had turned it back into its natural form. Namely, a golden mess. He was playing with a pen, tapping it on the table in an irregular rhythm, and, as Bossuet walked nearer, he noticed that the blond was biting his lip. He looked... very nervous. Something was afoot !

His friend sitting in front of him startled the blond out of his reverie.

\- Does something trouble you, o fearless leader ? Bossuet asked with a smile ?

Enjolras seemed to gather his thoughts before answering. Enjolras, at a loss of words ? Very Weird, indeed !

\- Ah.... no, not at all. I'm just... waiting.

Bossuet expected something more, but Enjolras left it at that. Of course, it wouldn't be that easy to pierce his shell. Not that Bossuet wanted to pry, of course. He was merely curious. Enjolras wasn't very talkative about his personnal life (his right !), and so, all the Amis were vaguely wondering about his life. Well, they were curious about each other's lives, but a little more about Enjolras'.

\- Waiting ? Bossuet pushed a little. Waiting for someone ?

Ah, was there a hint of pink appearing on Enjolras' cheeks ? That would be new ! Usually, his cheeks only got colored by the red of passion, or sometimes anger when Grantaire was in one of his annoying-the-leader-until-a-screaming-match-happens moods. But pink was new. And even if Bossuet's heart was truly taken forever by two wonderful people, he had to admit it was... quite cute.

\- What makes you think I'm waiting for someone ? Enjolras asked cautiously.

\- Well.... you're wearing a nice shirt, and your hair is.... was combed.

Enjolras' hands immediatly flew to his head to try and flatten his curls. Which, of course, only added to the disaster. It took great control from Bossuet to not start laughing. Instead, he just nodded as if it didn't now look like some kind of bird nest.

\- Do I know that person ? he mused.

Enjolras looked at the table, and his blush deepened. A lot. Ah. There weren't many contestants. Out of their common friends who weren't taken already, that left.... Marius. Maybe Eponine, and even then, the situation wasn't very clear. Courfeyrac and Combeferre ? They were best friends forever, after all, and Bossuet knew very well that polyamorous relationships could work. But that wouldn't have prompted that kind of blush. He really wanted to push the issue, but Enjolras shaked his head, and said curtly :

\- No, you don't.

Ah. Of course. Bossuet wondered if Enjolras knew that he was probably the second worst liar of their group (no one could be worst at keeping a secret than Joly), and that his ears turned red when he was lying. But he didn't want to embarrass him more. Joly would probably blame him for almost killing their leader by blushing. So he just leaned back on his chair, praying for not having chosen =the broken one again, and announced :

\- Then I don't think you need my advice. Which is very precious, as I am very well versed in the art of love. But you seem to know what you're doing. I really don't need to tell you that he takes his coffee black, with three sugars, and he hates Irish Coffee, no matter how much we joke about it. You don't need to know that he's very closed about his art, but if you poke him enough, he'll talk about it. He's super passionnate about it. ANd I certainly don't need to tell you that he's super knowledgable about all periods of art, painting, scultping, all kinds really, and that, if you want to have a good time, you should drag him to a museum. Nope. You don't need my help at all.

Enjolras was now as red as the hoodie he didn't bring, which made for an interesting picture. He didn't answer, just swirling his coffee with enough strength to almost send it over the edge. Bossuet put a hand on his arm, as much to steady him as to help him calm down. He had seen Combeferre do it several times, and he knew it was the best way to ground him again. Soon, the coffee was back to its normal state, and the blush had faded away. With a smile, Bossuet patted his arm.

\- Good luck, my friend, I'm sure it'll go very well.

Before Enjolras could answer, and probably send him to hell, he spotted Joly and Musichetta entering the coffee shop.

\- Ah, my own date is calling me. See you !

He got up and joined his two paramours. Joly was already babbling about the movie they rented for the night. Musichetta smiled at him and glanced towards Enjolras, but Bossuet just shook their heads. He then grabbed them by the waist and led them to another table, promising himself not to be nosy about that date when he'd see Grantaire. Well. Not too nosy. He was only human, after all.


	4. Bonfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Count on Bossuet and Feuilly to get lost while looking for firewood

\- Are you sure this is the way ?

\- Why, sure. Look, there's the tree with the broken branch and...

For the tenth time that night, Feuilly barely stopped himself from facepalming.

\- Are you telling me that you took a tree with a broken branch as a marker ? In a forest ?

Bossuet had the good grace to look sheepish. He scratched his skull, looked all around him.

\- Well, at the time, it seemed like a good idea... You know, since there weren't lots of noticable things...

For a second, Feuilly thought about yelling. Or screaming. Or maybe howling at the moon. It was full, after all. Maybe it would help. But instead, he took a deep breath. Then two. Then three. Slowly, the anger simmered down, to a slow burn instead of an inferno. He walked in a circle, trying to look for stars that would help him find their way back. Sadly for them, the sky was cloudy, only showing a vague paleness where the moon was. Not that he knew how to do anyway, but after spending more than an hour going in circles in that part of the forest, he was ready to try anything.

The afternoon had started very well. Combeferre had proposed for them to leave town for a weekend and go camping somewhere in the woods, far from all their worries and their hectic life. And, for some of them, the temptation of news channels and planning a revolution. It had taken some convincing - Feuilly himself was almost as ansty as Enjolras to leave the news for a weekend, Joly had rattled off all the dangers of camping during at least two hours, and Marius had tried to pile so many books in his bag that even with Cosette and Eponine offering to take one each, he still couldn't fit his toothbrush and pajamas - but finally, they all piled in two minivans and took the direction of the nearest woods.

The ride wasn't too long and didn't give them the time to start bickering or be carsick, so they reached the place Combeferre had noticed without any catastrophe, and in a very good mood. They settled immediatly, and were actually having a very good time lazing around. Until evening rolled around, and it started to get chilly. Bahorel offered to start a good bonfire. But of course, he needed some firewood for that. And of course, Feuilly volunteered himself, because he probably was the only one knowing how to choose adequate wood. Bossuet volunteered to help him, and into the wood they went, after a million recommendation from Joly.

And of course, they got lost. Count on Bossuet's bad luck to act in full force. Okay, that wasn't only his fault. Maybe he hadn't taken good markers, but Feuilly had had a bit too much trust into his ability to find his way back. the result was the same : they were lost, with no way to find their way, and no phones because of course Feuilly forgot his, and of course Bossuet's was out of battery.

Feuilly dropped on a providential rock, put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He didn't want to admit it, but the situation wasn't one to put him at ease. It was so dark he could barely make up the outline of Bossuet's silhouette, it was cold, it was far from the others, and they didn't have a way back. The others were probably worried, and they may have started looking for them, but how could they find them ? They didn't have any way to signal their presence. Feuilly knew they were supposed to stay where they were, lest they get even more lost, but that wasn't a pleasing situation. Slowly, he felt the first tendrils of a panic attack creeping up his throat, threatening to engulfe him if he even thought once more about the cold or the loneliness or....

Bossuet sat beside him, startling him. The panic receeded a little. Right, he wasn't on his own. At least, he had a companion in misfortune. Who didn't seem too panicked, from what he could see. He was rubbing his hands together, trying to warm them, but besides that, he looked... not too worried. He looked at the sky, then - presumably - at Feuilly.

\- Are you okay ? he asked.

The question took Feuilly by surprise. But count of Bossuet to be stuck in a dire situation and think of how others were living it rather than himself.

\- I'm okay, Feuilly answered with a deep breath.

His voice was a little shaky, but Bossuet didn't remark on it. Instead, he looked at their bunch of firewood, and remarked :

\- You know, we could try to start a fire. That way, we'd be less cold and less in the dark. And maybe the others could find us with that ?

Feuilly looked at him, but the effect was lost in the dark.

\- Can you start a fire ?

\- I have a lighter. And it's not empty. And I didn't lose it. Joly gave it to me before we left, he explained. Not useful to find a way, but for a fire...

\- We can try.

They both set themselves to work. It wasn't easy in the dark, they kept stepping on each other's toes, even with the lighter to help them, and at the time they finished building some kind of pyre, they were covered with sap and scratches. Many attempts were made to get it to start. But soon, they were back on their rock, sitting in front of a reasonably-sized bonfire. Feuilly edged as close as he could, enjoying the warmth slowly seeping into his bones. The flames were dancing almost as high as his eyes, shining on a circle around them. He knew he shouldn't stare at the flames that much, but the inconvenient of a fire was that the shadows around them were now denser, and moving too. He tried not to think about it, to focus on the warmth, on Bossuet huming beside him, on the smell of smoke.

An arm landed on his shoulders, and he almost jumped out of his skin. Bossuet smiled at him, squeezed his arm in a comforting gesture. Feuilly tried to smile back, but he felt the corners of his mouth tremble a little. Not very convincing. Instead of asking him again if he was alright, which Feuilly wouldn't have known how to answer, he started babbling, about how their friends were probably looking for them, how they would now abandon as long as they were lost in the woods, how there would be some food and a fire ready when they came back, how the others would not get lost while looking for them because they were careful and would take their phones, how they would all laugh about it in a few hours, and how Bahorel would even share his dessert with Feuilly because he was of the mind that food always made things better. Feuilly listened, edging a little closer, until he was sitting against him. Bossuet just held him and kept talking. And as he went on and on, Feuilly felt the knot in his stomach loosen a little.

The flames were starting to go down, when there was a rustling through the bushes. Feuilly immediatly jumped on his feet, ready to run. But instead of a dangerous woodland creature, Bahorel barged in the clearing, followed by Jehan and Courfeyrac. At once, they pounced on their friends, catching them in a five-way hug hard enough to send them sprawling on the grass. Once everyone was back on their feet, and their hair free of sticks and leaves, Courfeyrac remarked :

\- Good thing you made that fire, because we were down there (he gestured vaguely to his right) when we saw the light, but we wouldn't have found you otherwise.

Feuilly shivered at that idea.

\- You'll have to thank Bossuet for that.

Courfeyrac immediatly latched on Bossuet again, knocking the wind out of him. Feuilly watched them wrestle for a little bit, before Jehan pushed them down the path they came from, lighting the way with the lamp they brought. Bahorel glanced at Feuilly and asked :

\- So, Squirrel, what do you say of a ride ?

Without waiting for an answer, he knelt beside him to let him climb on his back. Feuilly took advantage of the offer. As soon as he was settled, Bahorel got up, and jogged after the others. Feuilly tightened his hold on his shoulders and around his waist, feeling the muscles move under him. He leaned against him, closed his eyes. The shadows were back around him, but the fear was gone. He wasn't alone anymore, he wasn't lost, the others were there, and Bahorel would protect him against anything that could jump out the shadows. He was safe.

(Bossuet was totally right for the dessert. Feuilly got a double portion, and he ate every crumb.)


	5. Bloody Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feuilly tries to clean up after a failed protest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gods, what have I written ?

With a sigh, Feuilly looked at his face in the mirror. Then winced because sighing hurt. As did wincing. In fact, everything hurt like Hell, with major hurting points around his ribs and the whole of his face. His leg felt like it'd been dipped in gasoline and set on fire. Large, black bruises were blossoming on his collarbone and his stomach, proof of all the hits he got. Smaller marks were spread around his throat, where a very disgruntled opponent of gay rights decided to try and strangle him. At least, he sighed, looking at the blue-black tint of the skin surrounding his right eye, he had given as good as he got.

Slowly, he started dabbing at the numerous scratches on his shoulders and wrists. What a stupid idea he had had to wear a sleeveless denim jacket on a t-shirt. But the day had been so nice that he didn't want to wear a sweater and... well, sweat too much. They had all been surprised, honestly. Their last four protests had been spent under a pouring rain, seriously damping their clothes and dampening their spirits. So it had been a change to march under the sun for once. They had all taken this as a good sign.

Yeah... it hadn't taken long for some counterprotestors to show up. They had started by sitting on the edges, snickering among themselves, ponctuating each of Enjolras' sentences with their laughs. Then they added crude gestures. And then, when that wasn't enough, they had started hurling slurs. Of course, people answered. Things got heated very quickly. Feuilly didn't know who threw the first punch, but soon, their protest turned into a big brawl. Les Amis tried to stick together, but they were quickly separated, and had to make their way through the crowd without being too badly beaten.

Feuilly was trying not to lose Jehan's fiery hair through the crowd, when one of the counterprotestors decided to use him as a punching ball. Feuilly did his best to defend himself, but the other was two heads taller and twice as large as him, and was having a field day with it. He had grabbed Feuilly by the throat and was ready to squeeze, when police sirens rang through the place. Immediatly, everyone scattered like scared mice. The man dropped his victim to the ground and left. Feuilly really wanted to do the same, but he suddenly felt very hard to get some air in his throat. Luckily for him, Bahorel had turned back and had spotted him lying in a heap. Without too much subtlety, he had thrown him on his shoulder and ran like hell.

By an incredible feat of luck, none of them had been caught by the police, and they all gathered at the Triumvirate's flat as planned. Joly had insisted on assessing each and every of their wounds before letting them go. Enjolras had a nasty gash on his forehead, Combeferre's glasses were broken and had cut him across one eyebrow, Bossuet had twisted his ankle, and Marius' knuckles were scrapped raw. But those were the only wounds that required Joly's attention, and he fussed over them as he wanted as the others left.

Maybe he should have left Joly take care of his bruises too. Not that his friend would be able to make them magically disappear, but at least, he would have been gentler on them that him, who just wanted to get done with it. And to think he would have to explain them at work tomorrow. Because there's no way he would dodge the nosy questions when he looked like he had been pushed down a hill in a barrel. Oh well, that's what he got for taking a stance, after all.

Someone chuckled behind him. He looked up, to see Bahorel's reflection, leaning against the doorframe. He didn't look too worse to wear, if one could ignore the deep scratch on his cheek, almost hidden by his beard, and the bruises on his hands. They looked at each other for a moment, before Bahorel stepped forwards.

\- You know, he said with a grin, I recall some kind of old story, about a mirror, and a bloody person appearing.

Feuilly's only answer was a raised eyebrow. He didn't really feel like laughing, and that wasn't only because of the marks around his throat. Bahorel didn't take offense. He just nudged him on the side, set himself in front of the mirror, hands on the console, and said slowly :

\- Bloody Feuilly, Bloody Feuilly, Bloody Feuilly.

He turned to face his boyfriend, and gave an exagerated surprised face.

\- Woah ! he exclaimed. Look at that ! You just appeared in my bathroom ! Now I can do as I please with you !

Feuilly didn't laugh, but he gave him a small smile. Satisfied with his effect, Bahorel ruffled the copper hair, then kissed him on the forehead gently.

\- Let's go, you creature of the night. Warriors like us, we need food.

Feuilly let himself be led out of the bathroom, onto the couch, and drapped in a plaid. There was the noise of something being thrown in the oven, then Bahorel dropped on the couch beside him, and dragged the package of plaid and boyfriend in his lap. He turned the TV on, changing channels until he found some mindless drivel that would act as a background noise. Feuilly leaned against him, and closed his eyes. Bahorel played with his hair a bit, and asked :

\- Do you think if I try to say "Bloody Feuilly" three times again, I'll get another Feuilly ?

\- What, I'm not enough for you ?

\- Oh yes, you're a handful, Bahorel answered in the lewdest tone he could.

This time, Feuilly laughed, and caught him under the plaid. Pizza, bruises and failed protest were soon very much forgotten.


	6. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire has a secret to tell Combeferre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What am I doing ? (prompt and choice of characters should be blamed on Kujaku)

The first notes of All-Stars rang through the library, cutting through the deep silence and startling the patrons out of their studies. Combeferre jumped on his phone and stopped the music before it started singing, apologizing to everyone around him. Damn Courf and his habit of fiddling with his phone ! He was probably on the other end, laughing his ass off. And surely very proud of himself for his prank. The worst part was that Combeferre couldn't stay mad at him for more than a few minutes, because he was too endearing for that.

He was surprised when, instead of his boyfriend's voice, Grantaire's ran through the phone. And it sounded serious. He asked him to give him a little time, to find a quiet place where he could take the call. Once hidden behind some very tall shelves on the second floor, he took the phone back.

\- So ? How can I help you ?

\- Can you keep a secret ?

Usually, when Grantaire was asking this kind of questions, it meant mischief. Not here. His tone was uncharacteristicaly serious.

\- Of course I can.

Of course he could. Secrets were sacred for him, they meant his friends trusted him enough with their most important thoughts, and he would die rather that divulgue them. He held some of Enjolras' and Courfeyrac's most precious secrets, and even torture couldn't force him to say them.

But not Grantaire. He'd rather go to Joly and Bossuet with his secrets, even if they - or at least Joly - were awful at keeping secrets. To have him finally come to him with them was a huge step. Or maybe they just had a fight and he couldn't wait for their reconciliation. One or the other.

There was a long silence at the other end of the line, before Grantaire spoke, very carefully.

\- I need your help. Or rather, your not-help.

\- I'm going to need some precisions.

\- Okay. So. Can you take your boyfriend of yours, and take him on a date tonight ?

\- That's not really help, Combeferre remarked. Is there something behind that favor ?

Another silence. Grantaire was probably wondering if he should tell him, or not. Finally, he relented.

\- I want the flat for us alone, until... midnight, at least. Yes, midnight. That would be enough.

\- And what could take until midnight ? Combeferre asked, trying not to sound too amused.

\- I want to have a romantic dinner with Enjy. Entrée, main course, dessert, you know, the whole thing. Maybe a good movie. And then...

\- And then ?

\- And then I may ask him a question.

Oh.

\- When you say a question ?

\- I mean The Question, Grantaire finally admitted.

Combeferre felt his heart jump a little. Enjolras and Grantaire had been going steady for several years now, and they were so disgustingly cute, it was just a matter of time, but still. His best friend was going to marry the love of his life - as if he could say no - and he was going to be happy. And Combeferre was very happy for him.

Anyone else than him would have hooted or screamed or yelled in joy, but Combeferre knew Grantaire. Emotionnally, he was a porcupine. A too enthusiastic manifestation of joy, especially at at time like this, would make him close up. So he just said :

\- Sure. I'll drag him to the midnight showing. You'll have all the time you need.

There was genuine relief in Grantaire's voice when he thanked him.

\- But don't forget, Combeferre added.

\- I know. If I hurt him or anything, no one will ever find my body again because it'll be floating in many differents jars in your lab.

\- Good.

\- Don't worry. You're still invited.

Despite the threat, Grantaire's tone was way chipper than at the start of the conversation. He promised once again to take good care of Enjolras and hanged up. Combeferre went back to his reading, smiling all the way. He couldn't wait to see the others' faces when the two lovebirds would announce the news. That would certainly be fun...


	7. Horror movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never trust Jehan to choose a movie.

\- Just wait, you'll see, it's really awesome !

A collective shiver ran through the room. Jehan's voice was way too chipper, which never was a good sign ; usually, it was a sign of mayhem and nightmares for half of the group. Sadly, fate had designed him to choose their movie for movie night. Well, fate, and those two boxes of small skull-shaped cookies they pull out of their oversized bag like some kind of multicolor Mary Poppins. Who could say no to their smile, adorable expression and delicious cookies ? No one. So they piled up on the couchs and the floor, wrapped themselves in plaids, and started the movie.

Half of them immediatly regretted it. Count on Jehan to find the scariest, spookiest, ghostiest haunted house movie ever. Their tastes steered them far from the usual splatterfest full of bad acting and cheap jump scares, to opt for scary atmospheres and morbid imageries. Which, of course, they all found terrifying.

Courfeyrac used it as an excuse to jump in Combeferre's arms and hide his face against his sweater. Enjolras was clearly dying to do the same, either with his friends or with Grantaire sitting in front of him, but something was clearly holding him back, and he fiddled with his sleeve each time something scary came on the screen. Joly was nestled between Bossuet and Musichetta in some kind of nest made of pillows, hiding each other's faces behind them. Only Eponine, Cosette, Jehan and Feuilly seemed inaffected. The girls were joking and throwing popcorn at the screen, Jehan was beaming, holding an uncomfortable-looking Montparnasse, and Feuilly had... fallen asleep on Bahorel's shoulder, probably exhausted by his day of work.

Bahorel was quite impressed with Jehan's choice. The movie was engaging, well-directed, beautiful too, and just scary enough to give him goosebumps from time to time. He was really enjoying himself. Which wasn't Marius' case at all. The poor boy was trembling like a scared puppy, whimpering and hiding behind his hands every two minutes. Bahorel was tempted to tell him to leave. But it had taken time for Marius to make himself a place in the group, and he would rather have nightmares for months than leave his friends.

There was something said for stubborness. There was something said for stupidity too, and probably not the same. But that was neither here nor there. The poor kid wanted to belong, and he was ready to scare himself to death just for that. Bahorel could not blame him. But maybe he could help. Moving slowly as not to disturb Feuilly on his other side, he put his arm around Marius' shoulders, and pulled him against him. Marius emitted a high-pitched squeak, luckily covered by the movie. He tensed for a moment, wondering what Bahorel could want, was it a prank, was he making fun of him and his ability of not being able to whistand a mere scary movie ? But nothing came, Bahorel just stayed like that, and soon, he relaxed. He was still jumping at the scary parts, but less so, and he seemed more comfortable, at least a little. Good.

Bahorel scanned the room. No one was looking at them. Except Courfeyrac, who gave him a thumbs up before laying his head on Combeferre's shoulder again, and Cosette and Eponine, on Marius' other side, who silently cooed at them and sneaked a pic. The others hadn't noticed, mesmerized by the screen. Except that Enjolras had finally relented, and manoeuvred himself to sit on Grantaire's lap, who looked like Christmas had come early for him. Bahorel promised himself to poke fun at him later. For now, he turned his attention to the movie again, content in having two redheads taking shelter in his arms.


	8. Spiderwebs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joly is lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so mean

Joly walked down the hallway, careful of the slight differences of level between the slats. The wood was dark, very old, and polished by time. His cane was slipping slightly when he leaned on it, and he was scared of it slipping and sending him sprawling to the floor. He had to compensate for it in his step, and the effort was sending small jolts of pain up his hip. He didn't know how long he'd been walking like that, looking for an exit, a sign, anything. Bossuet and Musichetta had been with him, but they had disappeared behind a corner. When Joly hurried to find them, they were gone. And he was left all alone here.

Damn idea they had had ! The house was too dark, too big, too oppressive. Large rooms where tall hutches of black wood were barely visible in the night that seemed to exsude from the walls, ooze from the baseboards, drip from all corners, to stagnate in large pools, drowning the chairs and the tables in their menacing depths. As big as those rooms were, the hallways were narrow, cramped, almost tunnels dug out of the darkness itself. From place to place, some candles were trying to pierce the obscurity, but they weren't enough to dissipate the night. Only a few things emerged from it, an armchair, a candelabra, barely touched by the pallid glows, looking like they were struggling against the never-ending darkness.

And worst of it, there were cobwebs. Everywhere. White, thick, draped everywhere like shrouds, hanging from the ceilings in heavy, lazy curves, low enough to touch his hair. Each time one of them touched him, Joly frantically rubbed his sleeve, his scarf, making sure none of it had gotten stuck on him. A tendril had rubbed against his cheek earlier, and he still felt its mark, like some kind of venomous kiss leaving a wilt.

Joly stepped a bit forwards. Now, he was awfully tense, and that wasn't only due to the uneven floor. Everywhere, everything was creaking. Musichetta would probably explain that the wood was just working, and that it was common in old houses. But right now, alone and lost in the darkness, he was just waiting for something to jump out of the darkness and catch him, and yank him in the night to feast on him.... Something moved behind him, something heavy, dragging on the floor. It sounded.... not like some steps, or even paws. No, it sounded... slimy. Almost, but not quite liquid. Joly started walking faster, and faster, trying not to look behind him, not to imagine the heavy (paw ? tentacle ?) contact on his shoulder that would throw him on the floor.

He turned the corner, and something engulfed him. Something cold and sticky that immediatly captured him, immobilizing him. There was grey all around him, grey that should have been white but was barely visible in the darkness. A cobweb ! He'd been walking straight in a cobweb, straight in the trap !! And now, now the monster would catch him any second ! A shadow appeared, darker than the night. Joly's breath started running, and he felt panic squeezing his chest, flooding his mind, erasing everything that wasn't the cobweb and the monster and the fear that was climbing and the pain and the fear fear fearfearfear....

\- Joly ? Joly-coeur ?

Musichetta's voice. It was Musichetta's voice. It cut through the panic, like it always did, and Joly felt the knot in his chest loosen a little.

\- What are you... What's this ?

Bossuet was with her. They were there, they were with him, they chased the monster away, like they were keeping the fear at bay. Hands pulled on the white-grey substance, untangling him. And all the while, they muttered words of comfort, assuring Joly that they were there, that they would help him, that he was alright.

Finally, he was free. Immediatly, he threw himself at his two lovers, who caught him in a hug and held him. Musichetta was stroking his hair, gently, and Bossuet's arms were tight around his waist. Slowly, Joly felt his heart slow down. He was still trembling, but the panic was receeding in the corners of his mind. He was safe. There was no monster.

Bossuet and Musichetta waited for him to get back on his feet before leading him towards the exit. Soon, the jaunty little tune of the merry-go-round surrounded them, and the lights of the fairground flashed all around them, a nice contrast with the drab house behind them.

\- Sorry, Joly-coeur, Musichetta said. If we had know that you were feeling like that, we wouldn't have dragged you in the haunted house.

Joly tried to assure them that it was alright, he didn't want to ruin their fun, but the words stayed caught in his throat.

\- Don't worry, Bossuet assured him with a kiss on the cheek, you didn't do anything wrong. We'll remember for next time. Now, what do you think of a delicious ice cream ? I think they have all the toppings on that booth right there.

Joly didn't need words to convey how much he liked that idea, and they all sauntered to the booth, the haunted house mishap soon forgotten.


	9. Night out

Bahorel anxiously adjusted his waistcoat while he waited for Jehan to open the door, then straightened the flowers. Perfect. Jehan loved roses, all kinds of roses. All kinds of flowers, really, but roses a little more. Especially as many roses as months they had spent together. It wasn't everyday you were celebrating your anniversary with your best-friend-slash-boyfriend-slash-soul-mate, after all. And he had gone all out for it. Jehan would be swept off their feet.

Except that Jehan wasn't opening. There wasn't even a noise coming from behind the door. Had they forgotten ? They were kinda distracted sometimes, but to forget an anniversary... Screw romantism and waiting for your beloved at their door. Bahorel pulled his key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. Mary Shelley immediatly ran at his feet, meowing all she knew. Bahorel scratched her behind the ears, then went looking for Jehan. No one in the kitchen, no smell of tea. No one in the living room, but there were traces of a poet spending time there. An abandonned cup, a pile of books... and clothes, scattered everywhere. Ah. Jehan might have started writing there, then moved to a more comfortable place.

Bahorel walked to the bedroom. Jehan was there, lying on their bed, gnawing on the end of their pen. Their hair had been gathered up in a bun that had almost fallen down, heavy locks resting on their neck and shoulders. Their legs were swaying back and forth, lazily, to the rhythm of the small song they were humming. Bahorel considered for a moment the picture, and almost felt guilty to disturb it. He could sneak away on tiptoes, leave Jehan to their writing, They wouldn't probably mind. Or he could just get rid of all those clothes and join them. But the restaurant couldn't wait, after all. Even poets needed food.

So he knocked on the doorframe. Jehan lifted their head, startled, causing the collapse of the ruined bun. They squealed in delight, jumped out of the bed, sending the pen and notebook away, and threw themselves in Bahorel's arms, barely avoided the roses. Once again, the idea of just enjoying that comfortable bed crossed the man's mind, but he pushed it aside again. Restaurant first. Think of the food. Not of the naked poet giggling because their boyfriend's beard was tickling their neck.

Jehan finally put an end to the hug, and looked at him up and down.

\- Is that my favourite waistcoat ? they mused.

\- If by that, you mean the one out of my impressive collection of waistcoats that would make you hug me more, and maybe a kiss, then yes, this one is certainly your favourite.

Jehan smiled, then glanced at the clock.

\- Do not think that I've forgotten. I remember about the evening. I just got distracted by my last poem.

\- I hope you'll have me read it. But now....

\- I'm going to jump on my clothes. Just give me five... no, ten minutes.

Jehan gave him a small kiss then flew to the bathroom. Left alone, Bahorel just sprawled on the bed and gazed at the heavy red draperies hanging above him. Mary Shelley joined him and started kneeding his stomach, making herself comfortable.

True to his word, Jehan stepped out of the bathroom ten minutes later. Their hair had been gathered in a crown braid ornated with flowers, and they were wearing a suit. Bahorel smiled at the sight, not even batting an eye at the shiny holographic shirt they were wearing under it, the collar showing a dusting of freckles on their collarbones. He just got up, kissed them again, and handed them the roses. Immediatly, Jehan ran off in search of a vase. They came back with a pair of hand-painted trainers made to look like Van Gogh's sunflowers.

\- I should wear stilletos, they remarked while putting them on.

\- Please don't.

Jehan pouted.

\- I'd be as tall than you.

\- And you'd be a disaster waiting to happen. I've seen you on stilletos. Now let's go.

Bahorel offered his arm, and Jehan took it.

\- Let's go, he bellowed, to the delights that awaits us ! Wait, are you wearing leggings ?

~*~

The lights in the bar were low, casting a soft, yellow glow on everything, bathing the whole room in gold. It reflected on the dark, polished wood, on the metal of the lamps and around the bar, on the rim of the glass, and on Jehan's hair. There were small speckles of light drown in the amber and green of their mismatched eyes, and their lashes looked dipped in stardust. A heavenly vision that Bahorel couldn't get enough of. The lights at the restaurant were stronger, and he had been able to enjoy Jehan in all their glory, their smile, the flash of their teeth when they laughed, the small reflection of their gaudy shirt on their skin, bringing their freckles out. But here, half lost in the dusk, they looked... heavenly. Like some otherworldly creature that had come from their fairy world just for him to admire.

\- What are you thinking of ? they suddenly asked.

\- That I'm probably the luckiest man on Earth. Scratch that. I'm the luckiest. On Earth, above and under.

\- Hades might have words with you about this, you know ?

\- I'm not even sure dear Persephone would equal you. All respect due.

Jehan's cheeks turned a little darker, barely noticeable in the low light.

\- Flattery won't get you anywhere, you know ?

\- Well I hope it'll at least get me a dance with the most amazing person in the world.

He held out his hand. Jehan didn't hesitate before taking it, and let themselves be lead on the small space between the tables, that could act as a dancefloor. They put their free hand on Bahorel's shoulder. Bahorel's arm looped around their waist, holding them tight against him. They started swaying slowly, moving in a circle, careful not to hit the tables around them. The music didn't fit, and people were probably staring, laughing at us, even, but they didn't care. All that mattered was the slow shuffle of their feet, their hearts beating so close to each other.

\- You know, Bahorel said after a moment, I could die right now, and I'd be perfectly happy.

\- That way, we could meet the Queen of the Underworld and make sure who's the most beautiful.

\- It's you, no question. But on second thought, I'd rather live and enjoy that evening a little more.

\- Do you have anything else planned for me, per chance ?

\- I really want to go to your home and enjoy your very comfortable bed.

\- Well, Jehan said with a smile, just give me the end of that dance, and your wish will be real.

They laid down their head on Bahorel's shoulder and let him lead them for a few more steps around the floor. The night would end in a very interesting manner, and they both couldn't wait to go back to the flat. But for now, they were perfectly content holding each other like this.


	10. Cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to the person who wrote the post on tumblr about Bahorel being so proud of Enjolras' first fight. I couldn't resist but mention it !

When he tried to come up with ways of describing Courfeyrac, Combeferre always thought of the sun. Enjolras might be the fierce one, beautiful and fiery and intimidating, but Courfeyrac was radiating warmth and comfort. And his smile was bright as sunlight. He was always bouncing with energy, always trying to cheer people up and make them laugh, throwing himself fully in everything. Even after a wavy protest, when they were healing their wounds and venting their anger, he made the rounds and aleviate everyone's troubles. His enthusiasm and happiness were contagious, and he was spreading joy everywhere he went. That's why Combeferre liked him so much.... among many, many other reasons.

The protest today hadn't.... really been bad, but to say it was a triumph would have been vastly exagerated. There hadn't been a fight, the police didn't try to break the manifestation. It was just... dull. People looking at them as they passed through the square, shrugging, and going on their merry way. They had just been... indifferent. Combeferre could count on one hand the persons who stopped to listen and talk for a moment. Same for the ones who stopped and mocked them. Bahorel only threw two punches. Missed day for him, but Combeferre was somewhat relieved. Disappointed, but relieved. He hadn't really wanted to end his day behind bars. 

He was going to the kitchen to make himself a good cup of tea, when he heard a noise. A strange noise. A strange noise that he wasn't used to hear in their flat. It sounded a lot like a sob. Combeferre followed the noise to its source, to Courfeyrac's room. He stopped for a moment, then slowly pushed the door open.

Courfeyrac was sitting on his bed, hunched, chin planted in his fists. He was sniffling lightly, and there were wet tracks on his cheeks. He lifted a hand to rub his eyes, then resumed his position. His feet, usually kicking back and forth, were hanging sadly a few centimeters above the carpet. Combeferre felt his heart break a little. It wasn't right to see Courfeyrac like that. Courf was made to smile, to be happy, not to cry, all alone in his room. He crossed the room to sit beside him. Courfeyrac jumped a little, but didn't make a move to hide his crying. 

\- What's wrong ? Combeferre softly asked, rubbing comforting circles on his boyfriend's back. 

\- Nothing, was the sniffling answer.

\- Clearly, this isn't nothing. Is it because of the protest ?

Courfeyrac nodded.

\- It wasn't that bad... Combeferre offered.

\- Yes it was ! No one did listen to us ! We did all that for nothing !

He put his head back in his hand and looked at the ground under his feet. Combeferre kept stroking his back, gently.

\- Now, that wasn't for nothing. I admit it wasn't very... fruitful, but if our message reached at least one person, then we made it.

Courfeyrac's only answer was a vague noise that could have been an assentiment.

\- Remember, Combeferre added, last time we went at that place ? The biker gang who wanted to hold their meeting at the same place, and how they threatened us and chased us ? 

\- Bahorel, R and Feuilly tried to defend us, and Baz ended up with ten stitches. Joly almost fainted.

The memory was a painful one, but Courfeyrac's voice sounded a little more lively. 

\- Enjolras was furious, that day, Combeferre went on. But it was nothing on the day he got into a fight.

\- His first fight, against protestors....

\- Bahorel was so proud, remember ? Telling everyone that Enjolras had his first fight and how he was all grown up...

\- And Enjolras trying to tell him that he had lost...

Ah, there it was. The hint of a smile. Combeferre embraced his boyfriend, and pulled him on his lap.

\- It's okay, he said. We can't be amazing all the time. Sometimes, there are down days, and it's not everyone's fault, and it's okay. It'll pass. And we'll do it, one day. We'll win. 

Courfeyrac was smiling against his neck, now. He looped his arms around Combeferre's shoulders, cuddling him like the world's biggest (bowtie wearing) koala.

\- If I say it's okay, will you stop cuddling me ?

\- Victor, Combeferre answered with a fond sigh, I'll cuddle you for the rest of the day if you want.

\- I'd really love that.


	11. Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire loves tattooing his friends

The ongoing buzzing filled the room, as obstinate as a tenacious bumblebee and twice as aggravating. Grantaire was doing his best to ignore it, but it has a special quality that prevented it from blending in the background noise, instead irritating his ears and riling him slowly. He focused on his work again, on the delicate flowers that were slowly gaining their colors. He couldn't lose his concentration now. Tattooing someone wasn't the same as drawing on them, not at all. Drawing allowed you to erase, to go back. But on a tattoo... an error was an error. And he was more or less sure that Cosette would have his head if he messed up.

At last, he put the finishing touch on the drawing, and stepped back to admire his work. Two beautiful flowers were now spreading on Cosette's shoulderblade : a branch of lilac, surrounded by several carnations. Around the flowers, a wreath of ivy was wrapped, and small white windflowers were scattered on it, shining like tiny stars on the dark green. He had painted them in bright, airy colors, giving them an impressionnist feel. Not quite Van Gogh, but he had to admit, he was proud of himself. Not that he would say it out loud.

With a clever set of mirrors, he presented the result to Cosette. She looked at it in silence for several seconds, enough for Grantaire to feel his heart stop a bit in dread. But before he could hang his head in shame and sell his parlor to the first one who'd want it, she turned around and hugged him tight.

\- It's wonderful, thank you !!

\- I'm glad you like it, Grantaire answered, trying not to sound too relieved and failing. I would be extremely sad if your birthday present wasn't to your liking.

\- Oh come on. It took you so much work ; first, you drew it, and then you inked it. You need to let me pay you for it !

She reached for her handbag, but Grantaire put his hands up.

\- You can't convince me. Nope, lady, this is not happening. This is your birthday present, and you can't change my mind.

Cosette gave him an exagerated sigh, but she relented. She laid down again, and let him put some ointment on the new tattoo and wrap it. He gave her the usual advice, that she listened to intently.

He helped her get dressed up, once again shooting down every attempt to pay him. Just before leaving, she turned to look at him, poked him in the chest and said :

\- I at least expect you tonight at the Musain to celebrate with the others. And if you think you're going to escape and pay for your drinks, you're sadly mistaken, mister.

\- I surrender, Grantaire laughed. Don't forget to tell me if your lovely others like it. Knowing them, they will.

Cosette kissed him on the cheek, and went her merry way. Grantaire watched her leave, then retreated in his shop. Lots of people would have told him that this wasn't a sound business decision, but he would have send them all to Hell. But ruin would have been a small price to pay for the privilege to see Cosette's so brilliant smile and to see her, or any of his friends really, that happy.


	12. Kiss under the rain

With a sigh, Joly tightened the three loops of his scarf around his neck and shoulders. One thing he didn't like about winter - beside the cold, the illnesses that always came with it, and damp socks in his shoes - was that it was dark way earlier than in summer. When he finished work late, like today, the night had already fallen. He could see it, black as coal, pressing against the large glass pannels above the hospital doors. The lampposts lining the main path looked pale, lost in the darkness, and it was even worse for those on the parking lot, pinpoints he could barely see.

He stepped out, and immediatly regretted it. Not only was it dark and cold but a hard rain was pounding the pavement, harsh and unforgiving. And of course, on the day that he forgot his umbrella. He usually never forgot, it was part of what Bossuet and Musichetta called his survival package, but he had emptied it to clean and reorder it, and didn't put the umbrella back with the rest. And now, he was huddling under the small awning above the door, trying to gather enough courage to run to the bus stop. But the noise of the rain lighted too many shivers down his back to move.

He stepped a little forwards. Immediatly, the rain doused his shoes, seeping inside. There were the damp socks he absolutly hated, and he retreated under the awning. The rain immediatly followed him, pushed by a gust of wind, splashing him up to his knees. Joly burried his face under his scarf. How was he going to go home now ? He would get drenched to the bone ! His scarf would become wet ! And wet clothes for a moment meant getting sick, and getting sick would mean... well, getting very sick, and feeling awful, and having to take medicine, and being a burden on his lovers, and...

He took a big inspiration to calm down, and keep panic at bay. No one had ever died from a little bit of rain, he thought. You're not made of sugar, you won't melt. And still, he didn't move. The rain was beating harder, and making it harder to leave. But he couldn't stay there forever. The bus would come any second now, and he would have to run to catch it. And of course, he couldn't run, just hobble quickly. And hobble in the puddles with a cane never ended well.

He was ready to at least try his luck, when something colorful appeared in his field of vision. A bright, rainbow umbrella. Held securely by Bossuet himself, who was looking at him with a large smile.

\- Do you need a lift, pretty doctor ?

Joly felt a large smile spread on his face.

\- You don't have a car, do you ? he retorted.

\- Well, you know that I don't. That doesn't mean I can't lift you.

\- Please don't. You'll hurt your back again.

\- Well, we're in front of an hospital. But for you, I won't.

He advanced a little, until the umbrella was under the awning, allowing Joly to take shelter under it without being hit by the rain. Bossuet caught him by his waist and pulled him against him, making him laugh.

\- You're my knight in shiny... umbrella, you know ? Joly managed to say between two fits of giggle.

\- I am. Do I get a reward for saving you from the evil rain ?

\- I can't give you my scarf as a favor, but...

He put his hands behind Bossuet's neck to better kiss him, and felt him smile under his lips. The tender moment was cut when Joly started sneezing, once, twice.

\- Come on, Bossuet said. Let's get you somewhere warm and with tea available.

Still holding each other, theh started walking to the bus stop, trying to avoid the puddles as not to get Joly's feet wetter. But once he was held close, Joly found it that he didn't mind it as much. In fact, he thought, being all huddled against his boyfriend, watching the small shards of light dancing in the water, he didn't mind the rain at night at all.


	13. Black cats everywhere !

The doorbell rang through the flat, the first notes of Over The Rainbow bouncing on the wallls. Jehan bounced out of the kitchen and down the hallway, their braid and plaid shirts floating happily behind them, and opened the front door. Bossuet was standing on the landing, a large bandage on his head and a cat carrier at hand.

\- Did you bring me a cat ? Jehan asked. You really know how to seduce me !

\- Alas, my friend, I come bearer of bad news, for my heart is taken ! But please, have the cat anyway.

He handed him the cat carrier, then another bag, that according to the noise, contained some cans and maybe a few squeaky cat toys.

\- Everything is in it, Bossuet explained. His special food, his favourite plush dinosaur, and the medication.

\- Medication ? Is he sick ?

Jehan didn't want to retract their offer to help, and they had accepted to house Lucky while Bossuet, Joly and Musichetta went on their romantic little getaway. Everything had been planned for so long, and they were all so enthusiast about it, Jehan didn't want to spoil their plans. Then again, they didn't want to put their cat in danger of catching anything Lucky might have.

\- Don't worry, Bossuet assured. He's not sick, it's just vitamins, Joly wants to make sure he gets all his nutrients. He's kind of a picky eater, so don't worry if he doesn't finish his plate.

Jehan smiled, relieved.

\- I won't worry, then.

\- Thank you again for keeping him, it's a real relief. Joly was kinda sad he couldn't come, but the hostel doesn't accept cats.

\- It's not a problem at all. Montparnasse will be happy to have a friend to play with.

Bossuet looked confused for a second, the usual reaction when Jehan talked about the cat.

\- Do you want to come inside for a minute ? Jehan offered to change the subject.

\- Ah, no, thank you. Joly will want to check the luggage a third time before leaving, and we'll barely manage to stop him from unravelling the socks. So I'll be on my way ! Byye !

He leaned down to wave at the cat, and off he went, sauntering down the stairs. Jehan came back inside, and put the carrier in the living room. They opened the door, then went to put everything away, leaving Lucky some time to assess his surroundings in peace.

When they came back, Lucky was sitting on the coffee table, looking curiously at them. Apart from his yellow eyes, he was identical to Montparnasse. Maybe just a little smaller. Jehan sat on the couch, put the ratty plush pinguin beside them, and watched the cat. Said cat jumped on their legs, went to sniff their shirt, then the toy, and started kneading their lap, purring all the way.

When Montparnasse came home, he found his partner spread on the couch, legs dangling over the armrest, a cat sleeping on his stomach. Wait no. Not one cat. Unless their cat suddenly sprouted a second head and another set of paws.

\- Am I seeing double, or did you ask Combeferre to clone Montparnasse ?

\- No one could ever make another cat as adorable as our Monty, Jehan answered with a smile. No, this is Lucky, the trio's cat. Remember ? I told you about him.

\- Ah, right.

Montparnasse sat down on the couch, and Jehan immediatly put their feet on his lap. He took what he hoped was his cat, and held her against his chest. Without dropping Lucky, Jehan manoeuvred themselves to lay their head on Montparnasse's lap, and sighed happily when they got their hair petted. They turned the TV on, and both of them settled comfortably with the cats for the evening.

(What Bossuet hadn't mentionned is that Lucky loved sleeping on people's heads. Montparnasse found that out the hard way the next morning.)


	14. Nightmares

Quiet was usually quite a rare thing in the Courfeyrac-Fauchelevent-Pontmercy household. Usually because Courfeyrac loved having fun, and fun was loud ; be it dancing in the living room with the music turned up at max volume, talking animatedly with the rest of the Triumvirate or his two paramours, or singing with the songs when watching Disney movies, he was usually surrounded with noise. Marius and Cosette weren't outdone, of course, they too liked loud music and movies. Cosette always singed when she worked on her crafts, sometimes very loudly, and Marius pretended that listening to his language lessons at top volume helped him memorize them. And that happy maelström lasted from morning to evening, all day, with only some variations in the music, until bedtime when finally, quiet took possession of the flat again.

Except that night. Cosette suddenly woke up, with the impression that something had broken the perfect silence in their room. A glance at the alarm clock told her that it was barely past 3 AM. No car was passing in the street at that time. Then she heard it again : a small whine, barely more than a whisper. And it was coming from the boy beside her. Marius was whimpering, kicking his legs like he was running from something and moving. And with the low light of the moon, she could see wet marks on his face.

She turned the bedside lamp on. Now she could see the pained lines on Marius' face, and the tears on his cheeks. She reached over him to grab Courfeyrac's shoulder, who hadn't been woken up by the noise, and shook him. He lifted his head, blinking, trying to understand what was happening.

\- Marius is crying, she whispered, what do we do ?

It wasn't the first time she had seen him cry, of course ; Marius was very prone to crying, and a sad song was often all it took for tears to flow. But this, the flailing, the small, muffled noises, that was new. Courfeyrac had lived with him way longer, maybe it had already occured ? And those desperate noises were scary, she didn't want to face it alone anyway.

Courfeyrac pushed his curls out of his eyes, and studied Marius for a second.

\- He's having a nightmare, he finally said. It's okay. We need to wake him up, that's all.

He grabbed Marius' shoulder, like Cosette had done with him, and shook him roughly. Immediatly, Marius sat up, eyes wide open, almost headbutting her in the process. He looked around him, breathing quickly. Courfeyrac moved to be in his field of vision, and gave him his biggest smile.

\- Hey there, he said.

He couldn't go farther. Marius let himself fall forwards, grabbing both of his lovers. They embraced him, holding him close. Cosette petted his hair and stroked his back, and Courfeyrac whispered in his ear that they were here for him, he wasn't alone, he was safe and loved. Marius didn't say anything, just let them confort him. Soon, the sobs racking his slight frame receeded, and he relaxed a little.

Slowly, Courfeyrac laid him back down on the mattress. Cosette came to lay beside him, and he wrapped himself around her. Courfeyrac settled against his back, spooning him tightly and holding him around the waist. They both waited until Marius' breath slowed down to its sleep rhythm, before allowing themselves to fall asleep too. One day, he'd told them why the nightmares, what was hidden in the depths of his subconscious. Until then, they'd do all they could to alleviate his fears and make things easier for him.


	15. Broken

October had rolled its pillows of clouds on Paris, and with them, the rain, and of course the cold. After days and days of sunshine and warmth, Parisians suddenly woke up to frost on their windows and white clouds on their breaths. They cursed as they always do, ranted about the sudden weather change, gave a few comments on how maybe there would be snow on Christmas, and went on about their business.

In the Triumvirate flat, though, the mood was a little less joyful. Combeferre noticed it first when he got up. The air in his bedroom was quite... chilly. He wrapped himself in the nearest sweater, and went to turn on the heaters in the flat. The beautiful days were over, he thought with a hint of regret. No more laying down on the emergency stairs with a book during sunny afternoons, or stargazing on the roof. And no more fans running in every room. Well, maybe that one, he wouldn't miss too much. And pumpkin spice latte was there, that was a bonus too. Until Courf heard about it, then he would get sick of pumpkin smell in a week. But, he thought with a smile, that was part of fall magic. And Courf magic.

But when he got out of the shower, the flat was still cold. So cold, in fact, that he almost dove right back into the shower to keep warm. Instead, he put on the warmest robe he could find (Courfeyrac's, which may explain while it was extremely plushy), the first slippers he found (a rabbit one and an old carpet slipper), and shuffled to the basement where the old furnace was. He didn't even need to touch it to check, the room was ice cold. But he did it anyway, and came back disappointed. It was cold as ice.

Back in the flat, Courfeyrac and Enjolras had finally emerged. He found them in the kitchen, wrapped in their comforters, two pairs of socks each on their feet. Enjolras even had a beanie firmly stuck on his curls, that looked suspiciously green. They were holding steaming mugs of coffee like it was a lifesaver.

\- Aren't you being a bit dramatic ? Combeferre asked while reaching for the phone.

\- Excuse me, Courfeyrac answered, I am freezing. This is no normal temperature to subject human beings to, and we're trying to survive as we can.

Combeferre rolled his eyes fondly, and tried calling the landlord. Who showed himself to be quite unconcerned by their predicament. According to him, that wasn't his fault, other people hadn't complained, he couldn't do anything about it, that wasn't covered by their charges, and at least two other excuses that Combeferre didn't bother to listen to.

\- Bad news, he announced. We're on our own.

His friends' looks of panic might have mirrored his own. Together, they barely equated to a functionnal human being. There was no way in hell they would be able to fix the furnace before freezing to death or destroying it before their landlord finally decided to come and check on them.

Combeferre was trying to figure if calling a plumber would be worthwhile or take even more time, when he suddenly had an idea. He grabbed the phone again, and quickly dialed the number, before a burst of guilt prevented him to do so. It rang three times, before Feuilly answered :

\- Yes ?

His voice sounded alert, not at all drowsy. Good, he would have hated to wake him up and steal some of his precious sleep. He explained their issue in a few words, trying not to sound too panicky. There were several seconds of silence on the other end.

\- I can drop by this morning, Feuilly finally answered.

Combeferre assured him of their endless gratitude. Feuilly's only comment was an amused grunt before he hanged up. Combeferre turned to Enjolras and Courfeyrac, who were watching him with hopeful eyes, and gave them a large smile and two thumbs up, causing them to erupt in cheers.

When Feuilly knocked at their door, they were huddled on the couch in a shapeless mountain of comforters, trying to distract themselves with movies. They all jumped at the first hit and fell over themselves to go and open. Feuilly watched them with the hint of a smile, but just grabbed the basement key Combeferre offered, and disappeared down the stairs, carrying what sounded like a well-supplied tool box.

He climbed back an hour later, covered in black stains, and walked in the kitchen, where he was met by a strong smell of coffee and three eager faces.

\- It's working, he said simply.

At once, the three men got up, and caught him in a hug. Feuilly startled a little, but he let himself be showered in affection. Courfeyrac even ruffled his hair. When they let go, the small smile was back, and there was a hint of pink on Feuilly's cheeks. Combeferre offered him a cup of coffee that he accepted happily.

\- Normally, it'll hold on, Feuilly explained. Since you told me your super doesn't give a fuck, I took the liberty to do something more permanent. That's why it took longer.

\- Do you really thing we're going to protest ? Courfeyrac answered. You saved us ! You're the best !

\- How can we thank you ? Enjolras added.

\- Don't mention it.

\- Why yes, we're mentionning it ! What do you need ? Say it !

Feuilly did his best to get out of Courfeyrac's arms looped around his neck.

\- Yes, yes, if I need something, I'll ask you. Now that you ask... can I take a shower ?

The combined "yes" was deafening. Combeferre lead him to the bathroom, and gave him some clean clothes to change into. When he came out, they were all snuggling on the couch again, but the comforters have been discarded in favor of hoodies. They made some room for Feuilly, and litterally dragged him with them. To be honest, he didn't fight back too much and soon, he was sitting with them, a fresh mug held in his sleeve-covered hands. He probably had places to go to, Feuilly was always busy (and today, it was their fault), but for now, he seemed quite happy to stay with them and watch some Disney movies. And Combeferre was delighted in seeing their friend take some rest for once. He leaned a bit against Feuilly, and felt him relax against him a little. Enjolras was doing the same on the other side, Courfeyrac half-lying on his lap. Everything was comfortable, and thanks to Feuilly, warm. That day really couldn't have ended in a better way.


	16. Helpless

Courfeyrac unlocked the door with Feuilly's key, and sauntered into the flat. He threw his coat on the hook, abandonned his shoes under it. The dark, polished floor seemed to be calling for sock slides, and he obliged. Until he met an abandonned gym bag and almost toppled over it head first. Once he had found his balance again, and he was sure he wouldn't end in the old hutch, he peered at the bag. That was Bahorel's bag alright. There was no way to mistake it for another, with the patchs sewn on it, and the colorful drawings from R's hand on the white bands. But if that bag was here, and not with Bahorel at the gym, then, it means that Bahorel was here, somewhere. Courfeyrac congratulated himself on his cleverness. But if Bahorel was there, then where was he ? He listened intently, but there was no noise in the flat. Except...

There was some kind of noise, alright. The breathing of someone that was not quite asleep. Courfeyrac walked around the couch, and there he was, sprawled on the cushions, one leg dangling above the edge and one hand behind his head. He wasn't sleeping, instead gazing at the ceiling above him. Courfeyrac glanced up too, looking for something of interest, but there was nothing there, not even strange stains one could see faces into. So he bent over the couch and offered Bahorel his biggest grin. He certainly didn't expect his friend to jump and almost fall from the couch. Should he be offended ? His smile was wonderful, after all, as the rest of his person !

Bahorel rolled on the couch to look at him upright.

\- What are you doing here ? he asked.

His voice sounded... rough. Not the kind of rough that came from crying, to Courfeyrac's relief, and his eyes weren't red, but there still was something wrong.

\- Are you alright ? Courfeyrac asked, extending a hand to check Bahorel's forehead.

\- Hm. What are you doing here ?

\- I have something to see with Feuilly. Legal advice. He asked me to drop by, and since he thought that you wouldn't be there, he gave me his key.

Bahorel frowned at "legal advice", but he didn't say anything, and he just nodded when Courfeyrac dangled the key in front of his face. Instead, he just resumed his position, both arms behind his head this time. Courfeyrac frowned. This wasn't normal and he was starting to get worried. Bahorel wasn't the kind of people to mope ; if something was bothering him, he tackled it head-on and beat it into submission. But right now, he seemed... off.

Courfeyrac decided to try and do something to help him. After all, that's what friends were for, right ? Cheering you up. So he climbed on the couch, settling on Bahorel's legs. His friend looked at him, surprised, but he didn't let him time to talk.

\- So, he asked, what's bothering you ? Tell everything to Uncle Courf !

\- Uncle Courf, I'm older than you.

\- That's not the point. What's wrong ?

Bahorel laid back down and looked at the ceiling again.

\- I don't know, he finally said. I just feel.... meh. No reason. It's just a bad day, I think.

Courfeyrac nodded.

\- I see what you mean. Do you need some help ?

\- I don't see how you could help.

The grin appearing on Courfeyrac's face would have made Combeferre and Enjolras run to the hills, or grab the water spray. Bahorel just raised an eyebrow, and didn't move. Fatal error. Because his position on the couch left his stomach defenceless. Courfeyrac dove on it, and started tickling him ferociously. Immediatly, Bahorel buckled under him, and almost threw him on the floor, but he held on. He moved his fingers up and down along his ribs, trying to find the most sensible spots. Bahorel was squirming, trying to push his hands away and get free of him, but Courfeyrac was very experimented in tickling, and that alone wouldn't be enough to get rid of him.

And finally, Bahorel burst out laughing. A good, hearthy laugh like everyone was used to. Courfeyrac kept tickling for a moment, trying not to fall, earning more laughs and almost getting hit in the flailing. Finally, he decided to have mercy on him, and climbed down his legs to sit on the couch. Bahorel kept lying down for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Courfeyrac kept watching him for any retaliation, ready to run at the slightest hint. But when he sat upright, Bahorel was back to his smiling self again. Courfeyrac smiled back, relieved. And then Bahorel dove on him, and caught him in a hug. Courfeyrac tensed, waiting for the inevitable revenge-tickling that would occur - and everyone knew that he was extremely ticklish. But instead, Bahorel just kept him like that.

\- Feeling better ? Courfeyrac asked after a moment.

\- Yeah. Thank you. But you know that there'll be revenge, right ?

\- I know, and I'll be ready for you, don't worry.

Bahorel ruffled his hair, then let him go. Feuilly opening the door prevented him from answering, and Courfeyrac just stuck his tongue out at him, before getting up and joining his friend. Behind him, he heard Bahorel turn the TV on. Courfeyrac couldn't help but smile. He still didn't know what was ailing him, and maybe he'd never know, but at least, he had managed to uplift him a little, and that was all that mattered.


	17. The Meeting

Sometimes, when he mused about his life, Montparnasse wondered if, per chance, one of the fairies who leaned over his cradle wasn't evil, and while all the others blessed him with godlike beauty, irreprochable taste and extraordinary hair, she hadn't cursed him in a way or another. Because how else would a man like himself, so refined and elegant, find himself stuck in that situation ? That probably was the biggest injustice in the whole world ! He should have been modelling somewhere, all brands begging for him, for a bit of his time, not working in a fast food ! Granted, it was the best organic-fair-trade-fair-wages-no-unnecessary-cruelty fast food in town, with organic-sourced meat, a charity box on the counter, and countless posters for non-profit events on the walls. But still.

Eponine walked past him, and as usual, pushed the horrid pink cap he had tried to hide behind his head, on his forehead. He pushed it back and glared at her, but she just laughed. He leaned on the counter, head in hands. There were things to do, of course, tables to clean, fries to cook, and trash bags to carry out. But he really wasn't in the mood to do any of this, especially not the trash bags. And he hated minding the fryers, because he always smelled of hot oil afterwards. And cleaning the tables was mind-numbing. No really, that job wasn't made for him at all. The only thing he liked doing here was watching the customers. At least this was fun. A fair-trade-organic fast food was sure to attract the most... colorful people in town, as Claquesous would say. Montparnasse was less nice, and refered to them as visual disasters and eyesores. So many bad fashion choices, he never thought he would be a witness of so many nightmarish outfits in so little time. Was it a new tendance, getting dressed with eyes closed ? Or were they just _that_  clueless ?

The door opened, and Montparnasse didn't make any effort to look less bored or less idle. Talking of fashion incidents, the person who entered the shop had probably assembled their outfit at random. Or got dressed in the dark. But even total darkness couldn't explain... _this_. Surely, they would have noticed that they were wearing overalls. Denim overalls with "La main verte" cross-stitched on the chest pocket, which was full of pens and other implements. The shirt under it was plain white, but that was probably the only normal cloth, and Montparnasse suspected that a tacky design might hide under the denim. Over it, the strange person was wearing not one, but two plaid shirts that clashed horribly. Bracelets were circling their wrists, and a crystal pendant was dangling from their neck. The legs of their overalls were rolled up and held by several colorful clips, and they were wearing army boots whose laces were trailing on the tiles.

Any other day, Montparnasse would have ran to the back and let Eponine deal with the fashion disaster. But he couldn't move from his spot, and just watched the person walk to him. There was something about them... He didn't know if it was the long, red hair gathered in a complicated braid, and strewn with several star-shaped hairpins and small, blue flowers. Or the freckles scattered on their cheeks and nose. Or the gentle smile. Or maybe all of this, together.

They stopped in front of him. Up close, their eyes were fascinating. Bright and happy, with a glint of mishief. And they were of different color, the left one green as grass, while the right one was a rich golden brown. It was... mesmerizing. It took Montparnasse a moment to realize that the person had said something that he didn't get.

\- What ? he asked.

 _Ah, nice_ , he thought. _Very smooth_. The person just smiled, and repeated :

\- Can I get a blueberry muffin and a mint tea with sugar, please ?

Montparnasse nodded like a robot, and cashed the order in.

\- It'll be ready in a few minutes. Go and sit, I'll bring it in.

That wasn't the usual way, but he needed to do something to get them away and break that strange spell they seemed to put him under. The person smiled, and went to sit at a table near the window, where they put their bag on, and started rummaging in it. Montparnasse shook his head, and went to make some tea.

He had a second of hesitation when it was ready. Should he send Eponine ? That person had a weird effect on him. Those mismatched eyes, they lit a strange feeling in his stomach, and his knees felt a bit weak. He didn't know why, and he didn't like it. But he certainly wasn't a coward. So he took the tray and brought it to the table.

Montparnasse had met a lot of people over the years, of all kinds, but he was sure he hadn't met anyone who could turn a fast food table into a mess that fast. Papers were scattered over it, covering every inch, and books were resting over them. The person was sprawled on top of that, furiously scribling on a notebook. They lifted their head when he approached, and smiled, and Montparnasse felt that strange pinch again. He waited while they put some of their papers away to make some space for the tray. He noticed that their hands were covered in ink, and there was a stain on their nose, near the tip. He kind of wanted to erase it. Instead, he glanced at the chicken scratch on the page.

\- Working hard ? he asked, and immediatly kicked himself. Could he sound even less cool ? Not that he cared, of course.

The person didn't seem to notice that he had a sudden burst of foolishness ; they took the cup of tea and started stiring it, looking at the notebook.

\- I have an assignement, yes. I had a bit of writer's block this morning so I decided to come here, and it seems that it has unblocked me, at least for now.

Montparnasse had many questions : why come here, what was he working on, what kind of assignement required one to cover a table with that many papers, and how did he cast a spell on him ? Instead, he just nodded.

\- Good thing, then, he answered.

\- Maybe I should come here more often, then, if it helps me writing.

Oh no, that wasn't right, that wasn't right at all. Neither the smile, nor the jump of his stomach at the idea that the person would come back here and would become a regular. He muttered something that maybe didn't mean anything, and hastly retreated towards the counter, where Eponine was doubling over with laughter. He pushed her none too gently and pretended to be busy with the pastry display. It didn't prevent him from stealing glances at the person here and there.

An arm landed on his shoulders, and Eponine leaned on him.

\- So ? she purred.

\- So what ? Montparnasse retorted, hoping that his voice maintained its coolness.

\- You like him.

Ah, right in the heart of the matter, in perfect Eponine fashion.

\- I'm right, she added. You do like him.

He threw her what he hoped was a glare, but she didn't move. Neither did she when he tried to push her away.

\- I don't. Mind your own business.

\- No ? Then you're not interested in getting their name ?

\- You know them ?

As soon as he said it, he knew that he was doomed. Eponine's smile took some Cheshire Cat proportions.

\- So you do like him. Don't try to deny it.

\- Yes, yes. You do know them ?

Eponine stayed silent for a moment, observing him. Montparnasse hoped that nothing could be read on his face. He had already said and shown too much, and he didn't like it in the least. THe only thing missing would be the rest of Patron-Minette learning that he felt some sort of feelings for someone who was dressed like some kind of hippie.

\- I do, she finally answers. He's part of Marius' little group of protestors. You know, les Amis.

"Know" was a stretch. Montparnasse has heard about them from Eponine herself, because she couldn't shut up about her crushes and what they did, and he'd came by one of their protests once, but what they did didn't interest him at all. He didn't have that time to waste. But he was aware of their existence. So that strange person was part of them ? They didn't really look like the part, with the flowers and the carefree attitude. Then again, maybe the saying about books and covers was true.

\- So ? What's the name ?

\- Jean Prouvaire. Everyone calls them Jehan.

\- Jehan Prouvaire....

Montparnasse let the name roll off his tongue. Beautiful name, really. For an... interesting person. Too bad that they were dressing like this but... but for the first time ever, it didn't matter. He had to admit the truth : Jehan Prouvaire was magical, and they had captured their heart with their eyes, and their smile, and their whole personnality. He was caught.

But he would not join the ranks of those pining helplessly after the object of their affection. No, not him. He would deal with it like a man. How, he didn't know yet, but he would. In a moment, he'd go and ask them if they needed something else. Very out of character from him, but it would give him an excuse. In a moment. Until then, he was content with looking at them - at Jehan - through the pastry display, hoping Eponine's snickering wouldn't alert them, and enjoy the warmth of their presence.


	18. Cataclysme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feuilly saves the world (again)

 Feuilly pushed the door of the Musain, enjoying the gust of warm air rushing to meet him. The room was almost full, and the chatter of numerous conversations weaving together helped setting a comfortable atmosphere. Feuilly walked to the counter, ducking under the plastic pumpkins hanging from the ceiling, ordered a gigantic cup of coffee. A little voice in his mind told him that maybe it was too much and Joly was right to tell him to switch to decaf, but he had learned to not listen to it. After a hard day of work, he needed a little pick-me-up. And if it came under the form of a huge quantity of coffee, well...

Once his precious cup in hand, he made his way through the crowd to the stairs, and climbed to their meeting room. It was still early, probably no one was here. He could sit, put his feet up, and relax a little before the mayhem that always came with their meetings. Of course, he loved his friends, and he had lots of fun with them. But a bit of calm didn't hurt.

He didn't notice at first when he entered the room, but he wasn't alone. It took him a second to see Grantaire huddled in the corner seat. But he immediatly realized that something was wrong. His friend was curled up on himself, holding something against his chest. He stepped forwards, slowly. Grantaire didn't look at him. Now that he was closer, Feuilly noticed that he was slightly rocking back and forth. And were there tears on his cheeks ?

\- Grantaire ? he asked cautiously. Are you okay ?

Grantaire's head whipped up. There really were tears overflowing his eyes. From up close, the thing that he was holding looked a lot like a hoodie. A red hoodie. Grantaire looked down, then up again. Small sobs prevented him to speak, so he held out the ball of fabric, imploring. Feuilly took it, and unfolded it. It really was a red hoodie. And according to the small logo embroidered by his own hands on the chest, that was Enjolras' hoodie. This opened a lot of questions. But now was not the time. Why would Grantaire have a hold on Enjolras' hoodie and cry over it ? Did something happen ? Did they have a fight ? That was usual. But then, where did the hoodie fit in all this ?

Grantaire decided to help him ; he unfolded the right sleeve and showed it to him. There were several stains on the fabric, blue and pink and orange. Paint, it seemed. The kind of stains that came when someone was wearing a garment and painting. THen....

Grantaire finally managed to subdue his sobs enough to say :

 - Enjolras lended me his... his hoodie because... it was cold.... I didn't think about... and I started painting and.... and now it's ruined forever, and he's gonna hate me !

 Feuilly still had a lot of questions, but they could wait. The stains weren't that bad, and he was sure Enjolras wouldn't notice - for as passionnate and a good leader their friend was, he was awful as being a functionnal adult, and it was thanks to Courfeyrac that the hoodie stayed wearable and clean - but it wasn't here nor there. Right now, he had a crying Grantaire to take care of. And luckily, he knew how to do it.

 - Here, come with me, he said. We'll fix that.

Grantaire's expression was half-stuck between hopeful and desperate, like he didn't believe Feuilly could make anything better. Feuilly grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him on his feet. Without letting go, he dragged him to the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

Under the fluorescent light, the stains looked more evident. Almost menacing. Feuilly put them under the water, watched them turn darker. In the mirror, he could see that Grantaire was still distraught, refusing to even glance at the hoodie. Understandable. Luckily for him, having to get by on hiw own, and working all kinds of jobs and with all kinds of materials had made him adept at dealing with stains. He pulled out a bottle of stain remover, and started dabbing at the stains gently. He had had a few doubts, since he didn't know what kind of paint Grantaire used, but the stains started to turn lighter almost immediatly.

After a few minutes, they had disappeared completely. Feuilly rinsed it thoroughly, dried it, then presented it to an ansty Grantaire. The relief that appeared on his friend's face was overwhelming ; he looked like Christmas had come early and brought him the best box of paints in the world. He grabbed it, watched it closely. Then flew in Feuilly's arms and hugged him tightly.

\- You saved it !! Thank you !!

Feuilly just hugged him back and patted him on the head.

\- Enjolras won't notice anything, I promise.

Grantaire stepped back, hodling the hoodie tight against his chest.

\- I'll tell him, but.... it's better now. He won't be mad.

There were lots of things Feuilly wanted to tell him, like that Enjolras wouldn't mind a few stains, or wouldn't be that mad juste for this. But he just pushed Grantaire outside, back to the meeting room. They sat back at the table, and Feuilly could finally enjoy his coffee. Beside him, Grantaire was still holding the hoodie against him like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Soon, the others arrived one by one, except Joly who was perched on Bossuet's back. When Enjolras came in, Grantaire jumped on his feet and joined him. Feuilly watched him almost grab their leader by the arm, stop at the last second, and inside usher him to the side, where they started talking in hushed tones. Feuilly paid attention to what Bahorel was telling him. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Enjolras bend down, and quickly kiss Grantaire, before joining the front of the room. Grantaire went to sit with Joly, now all smiles and happiness. Good, Feuilly thought. Not only did it not end badly for Grantaire, but their friends seemed to be dating and happy together. For now, they seemed to keep it secret, but that wouldn't last long, especially if they kept wearing each other clothes. And that day, he would have to gloat that he knew it before anyone else.

\- What makes you smile that big, Squirrel ? Bahorel asked.

\- You'll understand. Soon, I think.


	19. Van Gogh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feuilly and Jehan in Beauxbâtons (using our Beauxbâtons houses, so the Ravenclaw equivalent is Mustellium, with purple and cream colors)

Feuilly sat at a table in the great hall and spread his books around him. One of the good things of having a free period that early in the morning is that there was no one else in the hall, bar a few other early birds who didn't go back to bed, and  he could sit wherever he wanted and take as much space as he wanted. He opened his books, took his pencils out, and started drawing.

A shadow fell on his page, and he moved to hide it. A reflex that resulted from years and years of being made fun of and getting his drawings shredded. It's only then, recognizing the long braid and the purple and cream scarf  that he realized that he didn't have anything to fear. He only barely knew Jehan, the kid had started at Beauxbâtons one month earlier, but everyone had quickly learnt two things about him : he was a real sweetheart and very friendly, and he could kick anyone's ass if they tried to bully him. So Feuilly sat upright and smiled at him.

\- Can I sit there ? Jehan asked.

Feuilly almost asked him why he wanted to sit with him, so used he was to be on his own. But Jehan looked so earnest, he didn't want to hurt his feelings. So he just pushed his books aside. Jehan sat opposite him, and pulled out his own stack of books that he spread on the free space. Feuilly glanced at them : two first year textbooks, and three about botany. His passion, as everyone who spent more than five minutes with him knew about.

He was going back to his drawing, when he noticed that Jehan was looking at his books too, and he looked intrigued. Feuilly turned one of them to face the other boy. By some happy coincidence, the page it was open at was the one showing Van Gogh's Sunflowers. Jehan studied it closely, seemingly fascinated by the painting.

\- What is it ? he asked after a while.

\- It's.... from a Muggle painter, Feuilly explained. Vincent Van Gogh. He painted a lot of those sunflowers and.... many other things.

\- It doesn't move ?

Ah, right. Jehan was probably from a pureblood family, and had never seen an unmoving painting.

\- No, it's.... not magical.

The other boy turned a few pages, looking at other paintings.

\- It's weird... he mused. It... looks like it's moving.

He looked at Feuilly, and his smile grew brighter.

\- You say it's not magical, but I don't think so.

Feuilly couldn't help but smile back.

\- Can you tell me more about that painter ? Jehan asked.

\- That would be my pleasure.


	20. Stardust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during Kujaku's fic And everything burned blue.
> 
> (It's Kujaku's fault this is a Feuilly & Claquesous moment, btw)

Feuilly leaned against the plush-covered back of the corner seat he was sitting in - or rather sprawled in - and sighed. They had been locked in the back room of the Musain for hours now, and stilll, there was not the hint of the slightest resolution in sight. And he was starting to get annoyed. Granted, sticking two werewolves, a dhampyr, two vampires, three Winter fairies and a Summer one, and a bunch of humans in the same room was a recipe for disaster. They were supposed to figure a way to make an alliance among themselves so their group would be able to then work on a larger scale.

 

Which was.... not working. To be fair, he hadn't really followed what had happened. Probably someone had said something innocent that one of the werewolves took as an insult. Or the ice fairy had gotten bored and decided to play a hilarious prank on someone, like freezing their drink. Or.... any other reason, really. Half of the room hated the other half's guts, and at least a few of them were looking for the flimsiest excuse to start a fight.

 

Feuilly was half-tempted to get up and leave, go back to Bahorel's place and try to grab a few hours of sleep before going out again. His presence wasn't really useful here ; he would have taken part in the negociation, if negociation had been going on. But right now, the only thing he could do was be Bahorel's impulse control. Not very interesting. Or glorious. Leaving would certainly push Bahorel to punch someone, probably a fairy ; in normal times, he wouldn't have wanted that. The peace between the different realms would change things for him too. But right now, after several hours of sitting and watching them bicker instead of actually trying to make things work, he didn't really care anymore.

 

Someone came to sit beside him, and he immediatly sat upright, on alert. The shadow fairy, the one wearing a mask that, seen up close, appeared to be made of bone. Chilling. Feuilly smiled inwardly, promising himself to report the pun to Bossuet. On the outside, however, he just lifted an eyebrow and waited. What did that fairy want ? Pick a fight  ? He would find a willing partner, certainly ! On alert, he watched the other slide his hand under his cloak, ready to jump at the slightest reflection on a blade.

 

Instead, the fairy pulled out... a glass. A fancy glass, full of a bluish, shimmering liquid, complete with a straw and a slice of lemon stuck on the edge. It smelled a bit like cinnamon and magic. Feuilly's eyes went from the glass to the mask, then back to the glass. And back to the mask. The eyes behind it were the same bluish tint as the drink, but they didn't seem to be hiding something. Or they were hiding it very well. The vampire and the fairy looked at each other for a long, very long moment. That seemed to stretch more and more.

 

\- What's that ? Feuilly finally decided to ask.

 

\- A drink, obviously. We call this a Stardust.

 

Same as the eyes, the voice was dry and deadpan, but nothing threatening in it. And Feuilly was very good at detecting threats.

 

\- I can see that, he remarked. And why a drink ?

 

The fairy sighed slightly.

 

\- I'm bored, and we're here tomake peace.

 

\- Then why don't you make peace with the others ?

 

The fairy glanced at the rest of the room, where the others... didn't seem closer to get anything done. THe Summer fairy was glaring at Bahorel who was baring his fangs at him, Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta were huddled in a corner, and Enjolras seemed to be caught in a starring contest with the ice fairy. He turned to face Feuilly again.

 

\- I don't think now is the best time. Also the dhampyr doesn't seem to want me to approach the human with the glasses. He hisses.

 

Count on Courfeyrac to be over-protective with his best friend. Then again, this was a shadow fairy. So, an enemy.

 

\- So, the fairy added, I thought that starting with someone who doesn't hate my guts and would like to hang them as garlands woud be a nice idea.

 

\- And who's telling you that I don't want to make garlands out of our guts ?

 

\- No one, you're right. But at least you're not hissing. Now.

 

\- You have a point.

 

\- So here is a drink. Not poisoned.

 

\- You know that I don't trust you, of course.

 

\- Of course.

 

Feuilly considered the glass. Of course he knew the drink wasn't poisoned, he would have smelled it from afar. Either the poison or the treachery. The drink was clear. So that meant the fairy was earnest. Well that was... unexpected. And quite... not nice, that was a bit strong, but... interesting ? At least one of the fairies was trying to make peace instead of biting someone's head off ; he ought to not ruin everything. Sadly...

\- I can't drink.

 

\- You can't.

 

\- Vampire, Feuilly explained, showing his fangs.

 

\- Ah right.

 

The fairy whisked the glass away.

 

\- Then I'll drink it. To your good health.

 

And he downed its contents. Feuilly watched him, quite amused.

 

\- You seem to like your own cocktails, he said.

 

\- Welll, Stardust is refined and for the finest palates. But I'll keep it in mind. Maybe a Bloody Mary, next time.

 

\- You're hilarious.

 

\- I know that. Well, Vampire, I'll be off. I think Monty needs someone to hold him back before he bites the pretty boy's head off. Literally.

 

He bowed in front of the table, and went to drag his friend far from Enjolras, who joined Courfeyrac and Combeferre and started whispering agressively. Feuilly stayed where he was ; he didn't feel like joining the bickering. But there was at least someone interested in trying to make friends. Surely, this couldn't fail in the end. Right ?


	21. Rainbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorks in Beauxbâtons

Until now, Feuilly's day had been very enjoyable. He had found a book on levitation spells he hadn't read yet, he could grab a croissant perfectly buttered in the Great Hall, and found the best spot in the yard to read, a wall where he could lean against a pillar. And bonus, it was bathed in sunlight.

He was engrossed in his book, making sure not to drop any crumbs on the book, when a shadow fell on his page. Of course, that peace couldn't last long. And of course, it was Bahorel. Count on him to always seek Feuilly, bump into him by accident, and then proceed to needle him and poke fun at him. Well, that was on the beginning, when they couldn't see each other without their bickering escalating into fighting. Nowadays, while Bahorel was still looking for him, he seemed to mostly try to talk to him. And it was really awkward.

\- What do you want ? Feuilly asked, going back to his book.

\- We have a new house, now ? The house of squirrels, maybe ?

Feuilly cringed. That was especially awkward. Not once had Bahorel try to initiate a conversation as clumsily. When the answer didn't come, Bahorel took an end of the rainbow scarf looped around his neck and pulled a little.

\- So ? What is it, Squirrelbow ?

Feuilly rolled his eyes with an exagerated sigh.

\- What do you want, Bahorel ? Did you really come just to mock my scarf ?

\- I'm not mocking it.

\- Then let it go.

To his greatest surprise, Bahorel obeyed. He looked at Feuilly, bouncing slightly. The redhead, who had gone back to his book, looked up again.

\- Anything else ?

\- Yeah, Bahorel answered after a second. Why a rainbow ? Isn't it a bit.... y'know, girly ?

\- Can you stop with the "girly" part ? It was already old before you even started.

Usually, this is what started the fight. Bahorel would answer something about Feuilly being old himself, or a sissy, or an idiot, or anything else, Feuilly would answer in jest, and all hell would break loose. But no. Bahorel was just staring at him. He looked angry-ish, yes, at least a bit. But nothing more.

\- It's a Muggle thing, right ? he asked.

\- Yes. It's a Muggle thing.

\- They do have houses in their schools too ?

Ah. That was going to be complicated. Well, even more than he had thought. FEuilly closed the book with a snap. Better clear the air now.

\- No they don't. They use rainbows as a symbol for...

Would he say it ? He didn't hide it, really, several people were already aware of it. But that was Bahorel. Who knew how it would turn ?

\- For ? Bahorel prodded.

\- For gay people.

The silence that followed was deafening. Bahorel was looking at him, eyes comically wide.

\- Go on, Feuilly groaned. Mock me.

\- Why would I ?

Well, this certainly caught Feuilly's attention this time. He turned to face Bahorel fully. They looked at each other for a long, a very long time.

\- So ? Feuilly said when the tension proved to be too heavy for him.

\- So what ?

\- The mockery ? The remarks ?

\- Ah yes.

Another pause, heavier this time. But Feuilly didn't really want to know what was currently brewing in Bahorel's mind. According to all the things he told him through the years, it probably wasn't...

\- Do you want to go to the Ball with me ?

The shock almost pushed Feuilly off the wall, but the book on his lap was way too precious to fall on the ground, and he did his best to keep his balance. Bahorel was watching him, still bouncing slightly. Feuilly watched him back. He was probably looking like some kind of red-faced owl, but right now, that was the least important thing in his mind. Did he hear just right ? Did Bahorel really ask him this ? Or was it some kind of weird fever dream ?

\- So ? Bahorel pressed.

Okay, that wasn't a dream. Bahorel was standing in front of him, and he was looking at him like he expected an answer. He should probably say something, anything, to dissipate the tension.

\- What the fuck ?

Okay, maybe not anything. A flash of hurt crossed Bahorel's face, and Feuilly felt guilty for a second. But he still couldn't wrap his mind around what was happening.

\- You really want to go to the ball with me ? he finally managed.

\- Yeah.

\- Why ? We can't stand each other.

Bahorel shrugged. Feuilly wanted to shake him, to get answers out of him, but something told him that it wouldn't be a good idea. He didn't really want to start a fight. He wanted... okay he didn't know. Right now, he was awfully confused. And Bahorel was still waiting.

\- I'll tell you, he said as much to say something, than to get rid of him. I'll think about it.

This seemed to be enough to Bahorel, who waved at him and left. Feuilly stayed where he was, the book on his lap forgotten. He still didn't know what to make of what just happened. Was it an offer of peace, or a cruel prank played on him ? Did Bahorel really mean it ? Maybe. After all, it had been prompted by his scarf. He needed to think about it, and maybe get someone's advice on it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, after all ? Maybe he could spend some time with Bahorel without bickering ? That idea pushed a bit of the nervousness aside, and replaced it with a strange warmth that spread through his body. Yeah, maybe it wouldn't be so bad....


	22. Dead Leaves

Feuilly looked left, then right, trying to spot Cosette in the park. She had asked to meet him after his shift at the library, to show him something. What, he didn't know. But he couldn't refuse anything to her - like everyone else in the group. And so, he was currently sitting on the back of a bench, holding a cup of pumpkin-flavored coffee that he wouldn't talk about around Enjolras.

Finally, while he was pondering about texting her to know where she was, he spotted her at the end of the path. He got up when she stopped near the bench and welcomed her with a smile.

\- Thank you for waiting, she said. I'm sorry, there was a bit of a traffic jam, it was difficult to cross.

\- Don't worry about it. You wanted to show me something ?

She gestured downwards. He followed her gesture, to the shoes that were adorning her feet.

\- You're wearing Docs ? Feuilly remarked.

\- They are brand new, I just bought them ! And I know you're a Docs enthusiast yourself.

Feuilly glanced at his own shoes, beaten and battered, the leather straps having been fixed several times. They didn't hold a candle to Cosette's shiny black ones, with the delicate, lacy pattern on the back and tip.

\- They really look amazing.

Cosette smiled, delighted.

\- What do you think of testing them, then ? she asked. I'd like some coffee too.

Feuilly offered her his arm, and she took it. And to the coffee shop they went, arms interlinked, enjoying the cracking of dead leaves under their step.


End file.
